Next of Kin
by mahlia
Summary: When a B.S.A.A. service member is killed in action, a highly-trained bereavement team notifies the next of kin. But when the service member is your second in command and perhaps your best friend, someone who's saved you more times than you deserve, you can't trust just anyone to deliver that news. Piers deserves better than that. So Chris Redfield volunteered to do it himself.
1. Coming to terms

**Chapter summary:** Chris is rescued from the escape pod and brought to a B.S.A.A. base in Beijing for medical treatment, where he volunteers to notify Piers' family of his death. No one thinks that's a wonderful idea, but everyone knows there's no talking him out of it.

**Author's Note:** This is based on a Tumblr post by redqvccn talking about how Chris would have been the one to notify Piers' family after he died and how awful that phone call would have been.

However, the military doesn't deliver news like that by phone. They deliver it in person using specially-trained people who follow a ton of protocol. That's what drew me to this idea in the first place and I hope I did it justice.

* * *

For the first time in days, Chris Redfield had time to sit and breathe. There was no one to chase and nothing chasing him. He wasn't fighting for his life, fighting to save someone else's life, and there was no mission to complete. Thinking back on it, he couldn't even remember the last time he slept or ate. A day and a half, maybe two? It's not like he was hungry, anyway, and after what just happened, he wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon, either.

The escape pod bobbed along the waves created from the destruction of the facility hundreds of feet below him, the gentle rocking sending him into a trance. The events of the last few hours would catch up with him and when they did, it would probably be one of the worst bouts of grief he ever felt. He hoped and prayed he could handle it this time, and not disappear into the bottom of a bottle, or worse.

He looked down at the bloodied B.S.A.A. patch in his hand, feeling a cold, familiar ache wrap itself around his heart, squeezing until it grew hard to breathe. The first time Piers ever disobeyed a direct order, and it was to save his Captain's life.

Chris wasn't sure yet if he was proud or furious, but one thing was certain as he watched the sun coming up over the horizon.

He was tired of being the one left behind.

And Piers didn't deserve to die alone.

* * *

His rescue and the flight back to base took almost three hours from when he reached the surface, to the moment his boots were once again on dry land. And in that time, he hadn't uttered a word to anyone, only offering a shake of his head when the medic sitting across from him handed him a headset and asked if he needed any treatment.

The medic, a seasoned officer everyone referred to as Watson because of his English accent and love of Arthur Conan Doyle, sighed and kept the rest of his questions to himself. He'd known Captain Redfield his entire career, so it didn't take him long to pick up on the hitch in the Captain's breathing and the way he favored his right side. That was in addition the stiffness in his left knee. Watson reached into his enormous med kit and retrieved a bottle of electrolyte-infused water, a protein bar, and a blister pack of pain medication.

"Captain."

Chris tore his gaze from the window to his left and met Watson's eyes briefly before looking down at what he held in his hands. Watson tossed him the water first, followed by the protein bar and medication.

"The medical team at the base is prepped and ready. They're expecting you to check in when we get there."

Chris said nothing, and after drinking the entire bottle, he took a single bite of the protein bar before reaching for the meds. To Watson's surprise, he only took two of the four pills in the pack and swallowed them dry before shifting his focus back out the window.

At this altitude, there was nothing to see but the ocean, and it only took a few seconds for him to realize what Captain Redfield was staring at. It was the direction they came from, where he'd been rescued.

Watson mentally chastised himself for not saying anything sooner and handed him another bottle of water.

"Captain, I'm sorry about Lieutenant Nivans. He was one of the best."

Chris closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headrest. A moment later he gave a single nod.

Watson packed up the supplies the Captain wouldn't let him use and leaned back in his seat, careful not to stare. He'd saved a lot of lives during his eight-year career as a combat medic, but he never felt like they saved enough. There were days when he questioned how much longer he could do the job. His wife almost had him convinced to retire and finish med school, and after hearing reports of what had gone down in Lanshiang yesterday, he was even closer to doing just that.

The voice of his superior officer in his headset startled him, and he asked Watson for the number of survivors and if any of them were critical. Watson looked at Chris and kept his voice as quiet as possible.

"One, sir, and he's not critical. Captain Redfield needs some imaging and IV fluids at the very least, over."

There was a beat of silence before his superior uttered several angry expletives, followed by a set of instructions.

"Copy that, Watson. Update us if anything changes and send the Captain our condolences. Over."

Watson didn't have to, as Chris hadn't removed his headset. Chris watched him now, and when Watson looked up, the amount of grief etched across his face unnerved him. Watson averted his eyes and pretended to check over his med kit again.

In that moment Watson knew he'd had enough. He couldn't lose anyone else and didn't want to lose himself, either. After everything Captain Redfield had been through in the last year, Watson hoped he would come to the same conclusion, though somewhere deep down, he knew that wouldn't happen.

He'd seen it too many times. Men like Captain Redfield didn't back down and they refused to quit. It was admirable, but most of those faces now haunted his dreams at night. He hoped the Captain would never be one of them.

* * *

They flew into Beijing, one of several major bases the Asian branch of the B.S.A.A. maintained in China. Watson escorted him to a secluded lounge in the medical wing, tucked away from the regular operations and administrative wings.

"Someone should be out shortly, Captain," Watson offered, stopping in the hallway just outside the lounge. He clapped a hand on Chris' shoulder and squeezed, waiting patiently for Chris to look up at him.

"If you need anything before then, there's someone just down the hall to the left."

"Thanks, Watson."

"Anytime, sir."

Watson turned and headed back down the hall, leaving Chris standing alone. There was a conference room to his right and the blinds were closed, most likely for a meeting of their joint chiefs to organize clean-up and rebuilding efforts.

Chris sensed movement behind him and turned, for the first time noticing the occupants of the lounge. Jake Muller sat on a sofa along one wall and Sherry kneeled next to him, tending to a minor wound on his upper arm. Across from them, Leon's partner Helena slept beneath his jacket on another sofa. Leon paced back and forth, though at the moment he moved slower than usual and with a slight limp. He always struggled with sitting still, especially somewhere like this where the DSO wasn't in charge.

Leon whipped around when Chris entered the room, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise before he smiled in relief. He glanced behind Chris, expecting the young lieutenant to walk in behind him. When he didn't, Leon's heart sank in his chest.

Not again.

"Your partner?" he asked, crestfallen as Chris didn't utter a word and instead dropped into the hard, plastic chair nearest the door.

There were a few moments of tense silence before Leon took a seat, leaving a single chair open between them in case Chris decided to act on the anger they both knew he felt. Chris hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he removed his gloves. His vest and sleeves were splattered with blood and so were his pants, and with the lack of visible injuries on the rest of him, Leon knew the blood wasn't his.

He hoped whatever happened to Nivans had been quick and he hadn't been infected first.

"I'm sorry, Chris."

Chris nodded and dropped his soggy gloves to the floor, raking his hands through dirty, sweat-soaked hair before locking his fingers behind his head. He was already growing tired of the condolences, but if anyone could understand what Chris felt, it would be Leon, and he took a small measure of comfort in that.

Leaning back in his chair, Chris winced and covered the right side of his ribcage with his left hand. Now he was out of the field, his body had time to catch up to what happened, and his injuries were making themselves known. His head throbbed and the simple act of taking a breath hurt, which meant at least a couple of cracked ribs. At some point, he wasn't sure when, he injured his left knee- the one Watson told him several years ago would need to be surgically reconstructed. From his head to his feet, most of him hurt and god was he tired of being in pain.

It all paled in comparison to what Piers went through, however, and he was immediately drowning in guilt. Even after losing his arm, Piers still managed to take control of the situation and give them a fighting chance to take that thing down. Given yet another opportunity to survive, it was more than Chris felt he deserved and he'd spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of it.

His other hand balled into a fist in his lap and his vision blurred with angry tears when he looked up and met Jake's gaze. Jake didn't blink and after a moment, gave him a curt nod. Chris responded in kind and some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared once he realized Jake wasn't going to start anything.

All five of them glanced up when the door to the conference room opened. Chris stood and wobbled for a moment, still holding his side as he approached the officer.

"Captain Redfield, I'm glad you made it back safely. We were devastated to hear about—"

"Has anyone notified Lieutenant Nivans' family yet?" he interrupted, trying to avoid yet another apology. He wasn't sure he could handle another one without hitting something.

Taken by surprise at the question, the older man shook his head.

"No, Captain, they haven't. Our bereavement team—"

Chris straightened and looked him in the eye. It was easier to allow the soldier in him to take over; it let him to focus on the task at hand instead of everything else.

"I'll do it."

"We have a dedicated team for these situations, Captain, so there's no need. They're well-trained and unfortunately very good at what they do."

"I'm aware of that, sir. But as the one who recruited Piers, I'd like to be the one to deliver the news."

The officer took note of Chris' use of Lieutenant Nivans' first name, but said nothing. Chris didn't blink or even draw a breath until he shook his head with a sigh.

"Since you clearly won't be persuaded otherwise, I'll allow it on one condition."

Chris frowned, but said nothing.

"You must pass a medical exam before you're allowed to leave this post. I'll call in a favor and get your flight plans approved. You leave in three hours, so once you're cleared, double-time it over to the hangar."

Chris held out his hand, his left one still pressed to his side. The older man made a point of looking at that, then at Chris.

"No need for any heroics here, Captain. Let the medical team do their job."

Four other high-ranking officers filed out of the conference room and waited further down the hall out of earshot. Before he joined them, he lowered his voice and shook Chris' hand.

"I really am sorry about Lieutenant Nivans. I know he was like family to you."

He turned and left, leaving Chris to lean against the door frame. Someone behind him cleared their throat and he turned to see a member of the Asian team with a slip of paper in her hand. He kept his temper in check, since she was only doing her job, and forced a polite smile.

"Captain Redfield, sir, there's a phone call for you. She said her name is Claire."

In the lounge, Leon sat up a little straighter at the mention of Claire.

"Claire? How did she—" He shook his head. "Never mind. Transfer it to the conference room, please."

"Yes sir."

Chris entered the conference room, closed the door behind him and took a seat at the table, watching Leon resume pacing through the window. Seconds later, the phone rang and he put it on speaker.

"Claire?"

She breathed a loud sigh of relief and laughed quietly, something she did any time she was nervous.

"Jesus, Chris! You had me so worried. Are you okay? Is Nivans okay?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but none of the things he wanted to say came out. Until he could say what he wanted, he changed the subject.

"How did you know where I'd be?"

Claire scoffed and Chris knew she'd just rolled her eyes.

"You aren't the only one with connections," she said defensively. When she continued, her voice softened. "When shit hit the fan and they lost contact with both Alpha and Bravo teams after Waiyip, Jill called me. I know it's against protocol, but…" she trailed off, the hesitation in her voice easy to pick up on.

"She said you and Nivans took on a suicide mission disguised as a rescue op," she finished. "Look, I don't have the details, so we can hash this stuff out later. But are you and Nivans alright?"

From his chest pocket, Chris removed the B.S.A.A. patch Piers ripped off his jacket and stared at it. He was stalling and he knew it.

"Piers got hurt taking out a massive B.O.W., the biggest one I've ever seen," he finally answered, his voice cracking at the end. "He didn't make it back."

He heard a sharp gasp on the other end of the line followed by a shaky sigh. Claire met Piers a few times whenever the B.S.A.A. sent them to New York for meetings or training, and they always got along well. Based on the time the three of them spent together, Chris suspected there was more to it than that, but never had a chance to ask. And he never would, either.

Neither of them said anything for a moment and Chris closed his eyes.

"Apart from the obvious, are you okay?" Claire's voice was hoarse as she tried not to cry.

Chris nodded before remembering she couldn't see him. He carefully tucked the patch back into his vest.

"I've been better, but I'm fine."

A soft snort made him smile ever so slightly.

"You haven't seen the medical team yet, have you?"

He shrugged, grimacing when something pulled in his neck.

"Not exactly, but I've been ordered to do so before I can leave the base in a few hours."

Although he couldn't see her, he knew exactly what she'd do, down to the head tilt and arched eyebrow.

"We both know how well you take orders, Captain. But more importantly, why the hell are you leaving so soon?"

With a great deal of caution, he shifted in his chair and sat up a little straighter, making it easier to breathe. For the first time, he noticed Leon standing in the doorway to the lounge again, watching him and probably reading his lips.

"Someone's gotta notify Piers' family, Claire."

There was a beat of silence before a defeated sigh. She knew she couldn't talk him out of it and didn't bother trying, so she changed the subject.

"Word is the DSO had people over there, too," she said cautiously. "Is there any truth to that?"

Chris looked up at Leon again. He still pretended he wasn't watching Chris. He waited until Leon met his gaze before answering, making sure Leon caught what he told Claire.

"Yeah, Leon's here and he's safe. I'm looking at him now."

Leon nodded a thank-you and looked over his shoulder toward where Sherry sat next to Jake, before glancing at Chris again. Chris took the hint and Leon took a seat next to Helena, giving them some privacy once more.

"Sherry Birkin is here, too. Safe and sound. Leon wanted me to pass that along."

"What the hell?! DSO doesn't send administrative staff on field operations!"

Biting his lip, Chris closed his eyes against the headache throbbing against his skull. The longer he sat there, the worse he felt. While it was a relief to talk to Claire, he needed to get moving.

"Sounds like someone has something she needs to tell you. But, I've gotta go. I'll call you once I'm stateside, okay?"

"You'd better," she replied, and Chris heard the smile in her voice. "Or I'll hunt your injured ass down and handcuff you to my Lay-Z-Boy for some mandatory R&R."

When he didn't reply with a similarly witty retort, she spoke again.

"Hey, I only met Piers a handful of times, but it was enough to know he was a pretty great guy. I bet he was an even better teammate." When Chris said nothing, she continued. "He would have done anything for you because he believed in what you do, what you stand for. So whatever happened down there, if he believed it was the right thing to do and it would help you guys succeed? There'd be no talking him out of it."

The heartbroken, apologetic look on Piers' face before he hit the eject button flashed though his mind, and Chris slammed his eyes shut against the swell of grief. He cleared his throat and it didn't help at all.

"Yeah, I know. But I really have to go. I'll call as soon as I can."

He ended the call and gingerly stood up, careful not to bear too much weight on his knee. What Claire said was absolutely true, and that's what bothered him. Wise enough to know he would inevitably turn into a B.O.W., Piers made the decision to stay behind and save his Captain's life. But that hadn't been Piers' decision to make, despite the fact it was probably the right one. At its core, the real reason Piers sent him into the pod alone wasn't because it couldn't be controlled from inside. There was still power to that part of the facility, so they could have both escaped together. And even though Piers fought the infection longer than anyone should have been able to, they both knew he couldn't fight it forever.

No, the real reason Piers locked him in was to spare Chris from having to watch him turn and kill him once he did. Piers knew it was something that might have broken Chris completely, especially after what happened in Edonia.

The anger he'd tried to suppress ever since that escape pod opened boiled over. With a frustrated yell, Chris spun and sent his fist through the wall behind him, bits of plaster and drywall fluttering to the carpet. A searing pain exploded through his rib cage and he ignored it, using the other hand to punch another hole.

It wasn't fair. He was the Captain. It was his job to protect his team, to make sure they got out safely. If anyone stepped up to sacrifice themselves for the mission, it should have been him. He was so fucking tired of being left behind, of having to start over, of people looking at him like he was such a hero, when he was anything but. The only thing he was good at was getting his team killed.

His chest heaving, he turned back to the table and braced himself with both hands, trying to get his breathing under control. The pain in his ribs and the shortness of breath made him dizzy. He was well aware of four pair of eyes on him now, but he chose not to acknowledge them.

Once he could breathe without pain, he spared a glance toward the lounge. Leon once again waited in the doorway, ready to intervene, while Helena watched from her spot on the couch. Jake and Sherry remained on the sofa and Chris noticed Jake wrapped a protective arm around Sherry's petite shoulders. She must have been dozing when he'd startled her.

Deciding he'd wasted enough time, he yanked the door open and stalked down the hall toward the exam rooms, refusing to look at any of them.

Leon watched him hobble away, but made no move to follow. It was no use trying to talk sense into Chris when he was angry, something he'd learned early on from Claire. Someone tapped his shoulder. Just behind him, Sherry looked up at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Aren't you going after him?"

Leon blew out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

"I think the last thing he wants right now is comfort."

Sherry frowned and tucked herself beneath his arm, Chris' outburst leaving her uneasy.

"We can't just let him take off on his own," she said.

Leon shook his head.

"Piers wasn't just a colleague to Chris," he murmured. "Chris' teams are like families. And after last night, he's lost eight team members in the last six months."

Sherry leaned into his embrace and he wrapped a comforting arm around her as he continued.

"I'll check in with him again once we're back in DC. He's a Redfield, and when he's got something he needs to do, he won't be ready to deal with anything else until that's done."


	2. Breaking the news

Chapter summary: The second time Chris Redfield meets Piers Nivans' parents, he's there to tell them their son is dead. Somehow, that conversation goes better than he thought it would, and he finds some comfort after spending time with them.

* * *

The first several hours of his flight were full of weather-related turbulence, which meant that Chris was now running on over two days without sleep. No matter how he adjusted his seat, he was unable to find a position that felt comfortable for more than half an hour at a time. He put off taking the pain medication the doctor gave him until they cleared the turbulence; the pilot in him wouldn't allow him to try and sleep until then.

At the higher altitude, he took the medication, and even though narcotics usually made him drowsy, he still couldn't get much rest. The few times he managed to fall asleep, nightmares plagued him. At first, it was the same dream he had after Edonia: the screams of his men and the look of desperation on Finn's face as he reached toward Chris' outstretched hand, before an enormous J'avo dragged Chris away.

The new one was much worse. The sight of the Haos heading toward them and flinging Piers across the room like a rag doll played over and over, with Piers screaming in agony when he hit the wall. Then he stared that thing in the face while it squeezed the life out of him.

The pain is what woke him up, all the squirming in his seat doing a number on his bruised and battered torso. In the darkened and nearly empty cabin, it took him a minute to realize where he was. Even though he was awake, Piers' screams echoed in his head, so he used a trick Leon taught him. He fished some ice from his glass and held it in his fist, focusing on how it numbed his palm and fingers. It calmed him enough to take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds, repeating that process until his heart no longer pounded in his ears.

He wiped his wet hand on his pants, noticing the sore, red knuckles from earlier. His reflection in the small window was frightening and even in the dim light, he spotted the massive shadows beneath his eyes and numerous small cuts and bruises on his face. He looked like hell, but thankfully the dress uniform would cover the worst of it. His entire torso was tinged with blue and purple bruises in the shape of enormous fingers, something that genuinely scared the doctor who looked him over.

The lone crew member approached him and asked if he needed anything.

"Can I get coffee and some more water, please?"

He nodded and disappeared to the galley, returning a few minutes later with a large bottle of water and a small carafe of coffee. Before he even asked, Chris answered his question.

"No cream or sugar, thanks."

The crew member smiled and left him alone once more.

He had the thick manual in his backpack about how to perform a death notification, but he couldn't bring himself to pull it out and read through it. It contained an actual script of what he should say and how to deliver the news, and the thought of actually doing it still made him uneasy.

Chris was never one for following orders down to the letter, but he wanted to do this right. He owed it to Piers and his family, and he wanted to demonstrate just how much the world owed Piers for doing what he did.

And if that took memorizing some lines and preparing the hardest speech of his life, so be it.

* * *

The Nivans family lived on several acres near Fayetteville, North Carolina.

According to Piers, during a long ride between checkpoints after their first mission together, the estate had been in the family since 1897. Built in proximity to Fort Bragg, the home of the Army's Special Forces Command, Piers grew up traveling from upstate New York, where he was raised and went to school, to visit his grandfather there. When Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Charles Nivans, retired since 1979, moved to San Diego in 2004, his parents chose to leave the on-base housing and moved in.

Piers' father Colonel Thomas Nivans, an officer of the United States Army, still worked closely with the Special Forces at Fort Bragg. The leader of the B.S.A.A. bereavement team called before their flight landed to verify the whereabouts of Colonel Nivans, and they informed the team he was on several days' leave to celebrate the Fourth of July holiday coming up in two days.

Under his dress uniform, Chris began to sweat, and it wasn't the North Carolina summer heat that was the problem. Even though he spent three hours rehearsing what he planned to say, the only thing that came to mind as they drove was the disappointment Colonel Nivans once expressed about Piers joining the B.S.A.A.. Chris overheard the comment during the celebratory dinner after Piers was sworn in, when Colonel Nivans believed no one could hear him whispering to his wife.

He shook his head and glanced down, inspecting his uniform. He'd never been a fan of all the pomp and circumstance involved in wearing his dress uniform, though he would admit if pressured they looked good. He hadn't worn it for months, yet the navy-blue jacket still fit him perfectly, as did the matching trousers. The gold stripe down each leg was creased in the correct place. The collar of the pale blue dress shirt underneath stood stiffly against his neck, and his tie laid flat against his chest. The hour and a half he'd spent getting everything ready during the flight paid off.

The driver of the sleek, black sedan pulled over just down the street from the driveway and looked at him in the rear view.

"Captain, is there anything else you need to prepare before I drive up?"

Chris thought about it for a moment, running through the checklist in his head. When he reached the end, he sighed.

"No, corporal. You can drive up. Thank you."

The driver pulled back out into the street and turned into the long driveway leading up to the Nivans' estate. Chris saw a curtain move in one of the upstairs windows when the car stopped in front of the house, and his stomach lurched.

"Here we are, sir. God speed and I'll wait as long as necessary."

"Copy that."

Chris climbed out of the car into the sweltering humidity, grimacing slightly at both the strain on his ribs and the noise all of the medals and decorations on his chest made when he moved. He put his hat on and turned toward the front door, the heels of his dress shoes clicking loudly on the flagstone pavers of the front walk.

Before he even reached the front steps, Piers' mother stood at the door, one hand covering her mouth and the other clutching the door frame. Being a military wife and mother, this was the single most terrifying sight for her. Chris faltered briefly, careful not to let his neutral expression falter, before ascending the steps. The grief in her eyes was immediate and profound, and it was clear who Piers got his eye color from. He paused on the top step, making eye contact with her, and that's when she screamed.

Thomas appeared behind her, gently guiding her away from the door. A moment later he returned without her, in time to see a young woman, presumably Piers' college-age sister Natalie, scrambling down the stairs. She saw Chris and froze, immediately looking at her father, asking what's wrong. He gestured to a room down the hall behind him and turned back to Chris. Once Natalie left the entryway, he opened the door and Chris stepped forward.

"Colonel Nivans, I'm Captain Christopher Redfield. May I come in?"

Thomas nodded and stepped aside, letting Chris pass.

"This way please, Captain."

Chris removed his hat and followed him inside. Everything about Thomas Nivans screamed military: the grace with which he carried himself, the quiet way he commanded respect, and his intelligent, perceptive gaze. In his presence, Chris suddenly felt like a rookie cop all over again as he followed him to the study just off the hallway.

The sobs grew louder as they approached the study, and Thomas entered first, taking a seat next to his wife. She clutched at her daughter's hands, trying to steady her breathing.

"This is my wife Caroline, and our daughter Natalie."

Chris nodded and carefully took a seat on the sofa across from them, trying to ignore the way his body protested the movement. On the mantle above Thomas' right shoulder sat a large photo of Piers grinning from ear to ear, flanked by Caroline and Natalie just after being sworn into the B.S.A.A.. He swallowed hard and looked back at Thomas, who watched him intently.

"Sir, before I continue, I need to confirm your identities as next-of-kin."

Thomas gave an understanding nod and wrapped an arm around Caroline, drawing her close.

"Thomas Andrew Nivans, Piers' father. This is his mother, Caroline Elise and his sister, Natalie Jane."

Chris looked at each of them for a moment before placing his hat on the mahogany coffee table. He saw another family photo, just to the left of the first one, this one showing Piers standing between his parents in his Special Forces uniform. He quietly cleared his throat and looked at Thomas once more, before glancing at Caroline and Natalie.

"The Director of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance has entrusted me to express his deep regret that your son, Lieutenant Piers Thomas Nivans, was killed in action in Lanshiang, China yesterday, July first, two thousand and thirteen. The Director extends his deepest sympathy to you and your family in your loss."

Thomas closed his eyes and let his own tears fall, hugging Caroline tightly as she wept. Natalie held a pillow to her chest, staring blankly at the floor near her feet. Unsure what to do next or how to proceed, Chris sat with his hands folded in his lap. He chose to remain silent, prepared to wait as long as necessary to answer any and all questions they might have, protocol be damned.

Much to his surprise, Natalie broke the silence first.

"What happened to him?" she asked, tearing her gaze from the floor to the front of his uniform. "Were you there?"

Chris turned to face her.

"Yes, I was there. We were rescuing two hostages from an underground research facility when we were attacked by a large creature, something called a bio-organic weapon. We call them B.O.W.'s for short."

Natalie hesitantly made eye contact with him, her hazel eyes brimming with tears.

"He told me about them, once," she said. "We were watching Independence Day over spring break a few years ago and he laughed at the aliens. When I asked what was so funny, he said you guys fought stuff bigger than that on a regular basis."

"We did, but a lot of them aren't much bigger than a person."

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but Natalie spoke first.

"Is that what killed him?"

Chris' mouth went dry and he looked down at his hands.

"It seriously injured him, but no, it's not what killed him."

Natalie flinched and her skin paled before she turned to her parents.

"I don't think I want to hear any more."

Caroline patted Natalie's knee, giving her a tight smile.

"That's fine, darling."

Abruptly, she stood up and Chris scrambled to do the same out of respect, but couldn't move quickly enough. Natalie turned to him and held out a hand to stop him.

"It's okay, Captain. I can see you're hurt."

Once Natalie left, Chris shifted his focus back to Thomas and Caroline. Thomas studied the bars, ribbons, and medals on Chris' uniform.

"It's not often a commanding officer handles these types of situations," he said, waiting patiently until Chris looked him in the eye. "Usually there's a designated person or team to deliver the news."

There was no malice or disrespect in his tone, only curiosity at why a higher ranking soldier like Chris sat in their study.

"I volunteered, sir."

Caroline's eyes widened.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I volunteered. As Piers' commanding officer, I wanted to be the one to meet with you, ma'am. It didn't seem right to send a stranger."

Thomas and Caroline both looked at each other before looking back at him.

"He spoke very highly of you, you know," she said eventually. "Even though we've never met, I feel like we know you."

Chris, clearly taken aback by the admission, took a moment to allow that to sink in.

"What else can you tell us about what happened?" Thomas asked. "I'm aware most of what you do is highly-classified, but it never hurts to ask."

Chris leaned back against the sofa, resisting the urge to press a hand to his side.

"I'm prepared to answer any questions you have, sir. As far as I'm concerned, you have a right to as much information as I can give you."

Thomas looked at Caroline and squeezed her hand. She returned the gesture and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

"I have a feeling I don't need to hear some of these things, so I'm going to go make some coffee. Captain, would you care for any?"

"That would be great, thank you."

With Caroline safely out of earshot, Thomas leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. Chris took that as his cue to continue.

"Our team suffered heavy casualties over the last two days, and the intel we had led us to a research facility developing a potentially catastrophic virus. They had two hostages and one of them had antibodies for this virus in his blood."

"Did you rescue the hostages?"

"We did, sir. Piers remained by my side to give them a chance to reach the surface after we encountered the B.O.W."

Thomas stood and moved to the window next to the fireplace, staring out into woods behind the house. Like Piers, he had the tendency to fidget when things got stressful, which was ironic considering he was the best sniper Chris had ever seen. Apparently that wasn't at all stressful for him, as he could remain motionless for hours, if he needed to.

"You mentioned the creature injured him, but it's not what killed him."

Chris shuddered at the memory of Piers being tossed through the air, and the screams that followed. Thomas noticed.

"This B.O.W. was the biggest I'd ever seen. Just before it grabbed me, Piers pushed me out of the way." He shook his head to focus before continuing. "When it let go of him, he collided with some debris and that's what injured him."

From his profile, it was easy to see the family resemblance as Thomas clenched his jaw, something Piers did on the regular.

"Despite the evidence to the contrary, I can handle this, Captain Redfield," he said calmly. "Please continue, and spare me no details."

"Yes, sir."

The pain medication had long since worn off, and the headache and throb in his ribs returned in full force. Chris took a deep breath, allowing the grief to smother everything else. He held up a hand, making a fist, mimicking what the Haos did.

"It had me in its fist and would have killed me, had Piers not intervened. The debris nearly severed his arm, and he injected himself with a sample of the virus so he wouldn't bleed to death. The virus mutated what remained of his arm, stopping the bleeding."

Chris' voice started to waver, and Thomas turned. Chris shook his head and tried to remain stoic, but the façade already began to crumble.

"He fought the mutation longer than anyone should have been able to, and he's the only reason I'm still alive. Sir, I tried to save him. I—"

Thomas returned to his seat on the sofa, cutting Chris off.

"Captain, I understand."

Chris sat there, speechless.

"Over the last few years, Piers and I had a lot of discussions about his enlistment with you and I finally understood why he joined."

Relief coursed through him at the realization Piers and his father were on good terms.

"I've lost men in battle, though nothing even remotely like this," Thomas continued. "But I know my son. He wouldn't have been down there if he hadn't believed in what you were doing. This isn't your fault."

Thomas held a family photo from when Piers and Natalie were young, his fingers tracing the glass.

"It's not fair to Piers that you're taking the blame for something he chose to do. He saved your life for a reason." He waited a moment until Chris looked at him before he continued. "What do you think his reason was?"

Chris recounted the events of the last seven months, beginning when Piers found him in that shitty bar, bringing him back and helping him rediscover himself and their mission. Piers' faith in him had been unwavering, and despite the numerous instances when Chris pushed back or didn't deem himself worthy of it, Piers saw past that and kept pushing. He saw what Chris didn't: someone who would continue their work, and fight the battles that needed fighting.

But before Chris could begin to answer the question, Thomas interrupted him.

"Whenever you're angry or feel guilty, you need to think about that and remind yourself there's still a mission to complete and a war to fight. Remind yourself you're here to do that because Piers wanted you to be. He knew you were the right man for the job."

Caroline returned with a silver tray carrying three mugs of coffee, some sandwiches, and a plate of cookies. Her eyes were red, and tears still dripped down her cheeks, but she smiled.

"With the time difference, I'm guessing you came straight here, Captain," she said. "Please help yourself."

Chris reached for a mug, wincing when he stretched too far. Caroline frowned in concern, sliding the tray closer.

"With everything you've been through, I'm so grateful you're here," she said quietly. "But you seem to be in a lot of pain."

Not wanting to be rude by denying it, Chris said nothing, his silence confirming her suspicion. It was getting harder to ignore the pain radiating in his chest, and between the pain, his exhaustion, and grief, tears welled in his eyes. Thomas took Caroline's hand as they stared at Chris, watching him try to hold it together.

"I'm here because your son was an incredible solider, but more importantly, he was a good man. It was an honor and a privilege to fight alongside him." Chris swallowed past the ache in his throat. "Piers was more than my second in command. He was family."

"Is it dead?" Thomas asked. "Did he kill it?"

Chris nodded, tears finally spilling onto his cheeks.

"He did. After he knew I was far enough away, he ended it. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting it all sink in. Caroline excused herself and returned a minute later, handing a framed picture to Chris. It was a picture of the two of them at Piers' promotion ceremony two years earlier, when he earned the rank of lieutenant. They were both in dress uniform, shaking hands and grinning for the photographer.

"He kept this in his room," she said fondly. "I want you to have it."

"I can't accept this, ma'am. It belongs to you."

She shook her head, smiling gently.

"Please, I insist. Piers would want you to have it."

Chris studied the photo, still able to hear the laughter and music in the background. Ben and Andy were standing behind the photographer cracking jokes and making faces, prompting both Chris and Piers to laugh. It was a good memory, one Chris would hold onto when things inevitably got dark in the days and weeks to come.

Thomas glanced at Caroline and she smiled sadly in return.

"Captain, this may sound strange, but we would love it if you stayed for dinner to tell us more about our son."

Chris froze, having no idea how to handle the request. Thomas stepped in, giving him an out if he wanted one.

"Caroline, he likely has places to be. I'm not sure he's got time to stay."

Chris shook his head.

"The only place I want to be is right here, as long as you'll have me."


End file.
